


Need a Hand?

by rosequartzstars



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, F/M, Grimmauld Place, Hair Brushing, He can't help it, Hogwarts Era, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Oneshot, Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Pre-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Sexual innuendos, Unresolved Sexual Tension, it's nothing too sexual it's just ron being a teenager, rff 2020, romione, romione fic fest 2020, romione oneshot, ron being horny because hermione is brushing his hair and her thighs are too close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25195684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosequartzstars/pseuds/rosequartzstars
Summary: Grimmauld Place is wreaking havoc on Hermione’s hair: the humidity, closeness, and heat is making it frizz up more than usual. Ron gives her a hand and, in the process, discovers her touch is something he could definitely get used to. (Romione oneshot)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 55





	Need a Hand?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published for the Romione Ficlet Fest 2020 on Tumblr, for the prompt "hair". :)
> 
> You can find the original here: https://romioneficfest.tumblr.com/post/618661212516990976/need-a-hand

"Why— won't— it— stay— _down_?" spat Hermione through gritted teeth, punctuating each word with a fierce pull of the brush downward. She and Ron were whiling away the time in his bedroom at Grimmauld Place, hiding from Molly as she went on another of her thorough cleaning sprees, attempting to enlist anyone who came into sight to help her with it. Hermione, in front of the mirror, was similarly lost in her usual battle with her bunches of frizzy hair: it stuck up in all kinds of places, knotting and tangling where she didn't even think she could reach, and —as usual— refusing to cooperate.

"Maybe you should try some of that hair potion you used for the Yule Ball last year," Ron suggested nonchalantly, leaning back against the bedframe with a Quidditch magazine in his hands.

"Oh, sure, so you could make fun of me for getting dressed up for _Vicky_ again," snorted Hermione derisively, and Ron, a little taken aback —after all, she'd hit the nail right on the head— knew it was best to keep his lips shut or face a hairbrush chucked straight at him.

She kept the fight up for a few more minutes, before sighing and dropping her hands by her sides, the brush stuck to a clump of knotted hair. "It's no use. I'm going to look like a hag forever."

"Well, then, I'd suggest you get away from that mirror," piped Ron up again, "because last I heard, when Mundungus used it, he came up with some pretty nasty boils not long after, so that'll be two problems you'll have on your hands."

Hermione jumped away from the mirror apprehensively, then switched around to see Ron laughing on the bed— and this time, the brush did sail across the room and hit him straight in the nose.

"Ouch!" he cried, staring at his nose cross-eyed as he rubbed it. "What'd you do that for?"

"Oh, I don't know, Ronald, take a wild guess," she said as she stomped on over, yanking the brush out of his hands to resume the fight.

"Why don't you try a straightening spell, then?"

Hermione swiveled around to look him straight in the eye, glaring blazingly at him, and, without breaking eye contact, pointed her wand toward her hair: " _Alacio_!"

For a couple of seconds, the hair seemed to be going down, the knots loosening, the tangles unraveling— and then, just as quickly as if it'd been a mirage, it bounced back to its usual state.

"How—?" began Ron, wide-eyed at Hermione (of all people!) breaking the rule on underage magic.

"Give it a break, Ron," said Hermione nonchalantly, putting her wand back on the nightstand. "Grimmauld Place is unplottable, so it's harder to trace a spell here, and besides, you see it doesn't really have a lasting effect, so it's not like there's much to it anyway in the way of evidence," she said with a dismissing wave.

"You're really something, Hermione," grumbled Ron, " _you_ break a Wizarding law and still manage to lecture _me_ …" He looked at her again, still struggling to pull the brush down through the tangles, her face scrunching up in the mirror with a mix of effort and frustration. "Need a hand?" he offered, half expecting her to turn him down and tell her she could do it just fine, thank you very much.

To his surprise, she relented: she sighed and turned to him with the brush extended: "Please?"

She sat down on the bed next to him, and he felt the springs creak with the added weight. She turned her back to him, her hair cascading down her back, and Ron felt his stomach sink as he glanced at all the tangles he now was faced with eradicating: this was going to be harder than he'd thought.

Nonetheless, he grabbed a tuft and started from the tip up, brushing the tip until it was untangled and then moving the brush slightly upwards to do the same with more hair. He worked with uncharacteristic patience, never faltering or even pulling at her hair to get a tricky tangle out, but just working the bristles through her hair slowly, careful not to hurt her or to damage it.

When he was done, Hermione's hair was significantly easier to manage: she could now move her head and it would move with her, without it staying behind in a stationary tangle. She turned to face him, beaming: "Thank you, Ron."

"It's really no problem, I mean…" he smiled back, suddenly lacking a quip to fire back at her.

"Want me to do you now?"

" _Excuse me_?"

"Your hair, Ron, do you want me to brush it?" she said, pretending not to blush with the implication he'd just made.

"Oh— yes, actually," he said, surprising even himself with his willing acceptance.

"Alright, sit on the floor here," said Hermione, opening the compass of her legs and patting the bed in the space between them.

Ron obeyed: he lowered himself down onto the carpet and settled between her thighs, reclining his head back against her lower stomach. He felt her thighs squeeze closer around his shoulders— and felt a small throb a bit lower than where his stomach was.

Hermione began working the brush through his bright orange hair— a significantly easier feat, considering Ron's hair was straight and feathery. She could have been done with it in a couple of minutes: however, she worked as patiently as he had, allowing the bristles to weave between every strand of hair, smoothening it out and fluffing it up. "I wish you would've let me do this last year, you know, your hair was so long, almost to your shoulders, it was driving me mad…" she chattered mindlessly as she stroked the brush through his hair.

Ron almost didn't hear her: he was in heaven. He was starkly aware of the touch of her fingertips in between his strands of hair, singling out every tuft carefully, brushing her fingertips against his scalp every so often as she grabbed more hair to work with, as if delicately playing out a melody against his head, and it was all he could do not to just break out purring. He was also —though he'd be hard-pressed to admit that— acutely conscious of the warmth flowing to his shoulders from her thighs, almost wishing she'd squeeze tighter, almost wishing he could drown between them—

And then it stopped.

"That's it?" cried Ron incredulously, pivoting his head to look at her.

She grinned back at him: "Well, you only have this much hair, Ronald," she shrugged, still holding the hairbrush. "But you should let me do this more often, you know, how you boys manage I can't imagine…"

He let her trail off, not hearing a single word beyond her suggestion that they do it again, that he get another chance to sit blissfully between her thighs: _Oh, Hermione_ , he thought contentedly, still a little dazed, _you don't even have to ask me twice._


End file.
